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Here’s a fun bedtime story for you. Saturday night, I went to the gas station to pick up my evening coke zero. I know, I know, I keep saying I’m going to quit, but this aspartame filled nectar of saitan has a hold on me. What’s that? You’re not concerned about my coke zero addiction? You’re more worried that I spend my Saturday nights going to gas stations instead of going to some fabulous Sex and the City type escapade where I arrive at the opening of some posh nightclub with my super rich gal pals and accidentally slip and fall and my vagina lands of Harry Connick Jr? Well, no! I like to spend my Saturday nights walking my dog in the park under the slight buzz of chemically made sweeteners. Anywho, back to my good samaritan story. Oh crap! I gave it away. It’s a story about me being a good samaritan, or atleast trying to be. So, after I handed the cashier my dollar fifty to pay for my devil juice, a young lady walked into the gas station in a slight panic.

Panicked-Young-Lady: “Is there anyone here who could change my oil?”

Nigerian-BP-employee: “No, the shop is closed.”

Panicked-Young-Lady: “Well, is there anyone that could check my oil? I don’t know how.”

Nigerian-BP-employee: “No.”

Extra-panicked-Young-Lady: “Please. The light came on and I don’t know what to do.”

Extra-annoyed-BP-employee: “No.”

Me: “Giiirrrrllllll! You don’t know how to check your oil?”

A-little-offended-that-I-put-on-my-black-voice-when-I-shouted-“Giiirrrrlllllll!”-but- willing-to-forgive-me-because-she-was-still-a-panicked-Young-Lady: “No, I have no idea how to check it.”

So then, Ruby, my coke zero, and I headed out to have a looksy under her hood (giggity giggity goo!). I marched over to her car, thinking mostly of how proud my Dad would be of his daughter for knowing how to check oil, and only slightly about how this would be the perfect trap for me to be kidnapped and sold into human sex trafficking.

As we opened the hood, I began to doubt myself on my knowledge of the task at hand. I haven’t checked oil since I don’t know, 2001? And even then it was on my ’91 Ford Escort. This engine looked completely foreign to me. Back in my day, you saw an entire ugly engine when you opened your hood of a car. You propped said hood open with an old broom from your trunk because the real propp-y open-y thingamajig broke years ago when you were necking on the hood with your 10th grade boyfriend. This fancy new car had a cover over the whole dang engine! It took me 5 minutes to find the pull-y out-y dip-sticky thing, but finally, I did! Look at me now dad! I pulled out the pull-y out-y dip-sticky thing and wiped it clean with some dunkin’ donuts napkins, put it back in, and pulled it out again (giggity). No oil.

Daddy’s-little-girl: “Well, a stranger here in Harlem, asked for my help, so I came over to their car to see what was the matter. Not sure what the make is, this ally is very dark.”

Dear-old-Dad: (smacks forehead)

Me: “I checked her oil, and I think it’s out. What kind of oil does she need. It’s a normal sized car.”

Dad-who-I-should-probably-mention-is-a-truck-driver-and-knows-a-lot-about-cars: “I’d say probably z100, or 92Q, or Mix106.5 (I don’t really remember what kind of oil he said, so I just substituted Baltimore radio stations of the early 90’s for the purpose of this blog post).”

Me: “Go get some 99.1WHFS!”

Young-Lady: “Ok!”

3 minutes later…

Me: “Ok, dad. We’re putting it in the car….wait a second, should it be spitting at us?

Dad: “Is the car running.”

Me: “yes.”

Dad: “Turn it off!!!!!!”

Me-as-if-I-was-in-a-scene-from-Die-Hard:“Turn it off!!!!! Run!!!!! It’s a powder keg!!!! We’re all going to die!!!!!!”(and then proceed to hang up on my dad in hysteria).

Young-Lady: “Ahhhhh!!!! I can’t!!!! I just got the battery jump started!!! I’m supposed to leave it running!!!! What are we gonna do????”

Panicked-and-confused-Me: (calling my dad back) “Are we going to explode???? Did I almost just kill us???”

Dad: “No. You’re just not supposed to put oil in a running car.”

Me-who-should-have-paid-more-attention-to-my-Dad-when-I-was-16-when-he-taught-me-how-to-check-oil: “She just got a jump start so she can’t turn it off. And I just crapped my pants. Is crap flammable?”

Dad-who-is-constantly-in-awe-of-how-his-daughter-has-survived-this-long: “No. Just fill it up with a quart and she should be fine until she gets where she needs to be to turn it off.”

So, today is the halfway point of starting the new habit that is “NO dairy and NOCoke Zero.”

It’s been 33 days since I gave up both, and research has shown that it takes 66 daysto kick a habit or start a new one. Which is pretty convenient given the name of my blog (which is a relief because I had no idea what I was going to do with this whole 66-days-till-the-end-of-the-world-but-then-the-end-of-the-world-didin’t-happen-so-what-the-eff-is-my-blog-going-to-be-about-now-?-thing…plus I don’t have any money to buy a new domain name…nor am I creative enough to think another one up). So today is the check in point of how my life is as an Aspartameless P-gan….

What’s a P-gan? It’s a Pescetarian Vegan/a word I completely made up. What’s a Pescetarian you say? A really hot chick that doesn’t eat meat but still eats seafood. What’s a vegan? A really hot chick that doesn’t eat any animals or products produced by animals. In conclusion, a P-gan is a really hot chick who doesn’t eat meat, still eats seafood, but doesn’t eat any dairy products, and is really hot. Oh, I already mentioned really hot? Well, it just needed to be mentioned again for all of you hot single guys that read my blog (there are no hot single guys that read my blog…well maybe they do…until I start talking about my diet…and farts…I won’t talk about farts…girls don’t fart…well some do…the really mean ones fart all of the time…I’m not mean) and might be weirded out by a girl that you can’t take out for a burger even though she will gladly drink beer and eat french fries while you chomp on your rotting animal carcass so why don’t you just go ahead and ask me out already?

Pro’s about being a P-gan and quitting Aspartame

1. Your farts are nicer (as opposed to mean farts…don’t pretend you don’t know what a mean fart is…it’s exactly what you think it is…that’s the last time I talk about farts…how am I still single?).

2. You have more energy and need less sleep at night.

3. You’re skin is clearer.

4. You’re generally happier (not that you were depressed before, but for some reason you are super happy most of the time now…probably because of the nicer farts).

5. You get to explain what a P-gan is to people who seem really surprised that it has nothing to do with penises.

Cons about being a P-gan and quitting Aspartame

1. You gained a pound (which I’m sure has nothing to do with not working out and drinking beer instead…and remember that time when you said you were going to do 100 crunches a day? Yeah, well that only worked for 2 days fat ass…get your sh*it together…you’ve got 3 weddings to go to this year…by yourself…so it’ time to stop being polite and start getting real…this is the real world…Upper-upper-upper Westside).

2. People are disappointed that the word P-gan has nothing to do with penises.

Now, to be fair, I have to admit that I’m only about 90% P-gan as I did eat crawfish chowder 2 weeks ago and I’m pretty sure there was some butter in the mussels I ordered last night. And I guess I’m only 85% Aspartameless too because I’ve still been chewing some spearmint Orbit gum which I’m pretty sure has aspartame in it, but I haven’t found any gum that hasn’t. So I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m a complete fraud and you shouldn’t listen to anything I have to say and that all of my lying is probably the reason that I gained a pound. But I swear I haven’t had a diet soda since January 3rd, which was my 30th birthday, which was 33 days ago. Oh, and I may not be as hot as I previously mentioned…

*If any of you would like to subscribe to my blog to get alerted when I write new posts so that you don’t have to rely on Facebook or that batman like shadow that I post in the sky, please do. I think there’s a ‘subscribe’ button here somewhere.*

Hey there adoring fans (“Sabrina” from the Verizon Tech Support team that restored my 571 contacts)!

Ah, here we are. Safe and sound on December 26th. The world didn’t end. I ate cheese fries. Christmas was wonderful. I drank 7 bottles of wine. And here I am just 5 days post apocalypse and I can’t seem to button my pants. Surely it’s not my fault. I mean, my parents have a really hot dryer. My ass swelled on the 7 hour train ride home. There’s absolutely no way that opting to write a blog instead of eating right, taking dance class, and hitting the gym for 6 months would have any effect on my sexy body…

oops…

Ok. To be fair, the scale read 129.8 before I picked up my phone (You hear that? It’s the sound of the little x at the top of the screen being clicked on by any dude reading this post. What’s the matter fellas? Don’t want to read about a lady and her weight? But I’m naked in this picture. Does that help? No? Ok, tune in tomorrow where I will be talking about motorcycles and hand jobs). The truth is, I’ve only gained 5 lbs in the last year. The problem is that my body has turned into 129.8 lbs of cheese, salt and vinegar potato chips, coke zero and lots and lots of booze. I feel like crap and now that the world is not going to end, I guess I should start taking care of myself…you know, so I can look (and feel) really hot for the next apocalypse.

My first step was to re-watch this really awesome documentary called…

Hungry for Change

It’s by the same peeps that made Food Matters (Netflix that son!). It talks about all the effed up s*it that is going on with our food and yadda yadda yadda we should eat a more natural plant based diet. I did this whole 80% vegan diet for 5 months last year and felt awesome. I had also lost the 5lbs that I had put on, felt less tired, and had awesome skin. (You hear that? It’s the sound of anyone else that would rather suck on a lead based paint popsicle than read about a vegan diet). Don’t worry, I’m not going to document everything I eat and take pictures of my poop everyday. I’m just taking one step at a time to create a better life for my self (now that I’m going to be able to hold onto it for a little while longer).

Step 1: No more Coke Zero (gasp!)

I know I say this about twice a year, but this time I really am quitting coke zero. In my little documentary here, I’ve learned that aspartame is quite addictive (so you see, it’s not my fault that I drink 4 20oz bottles a day!). What happens is that it kills your cute little brain cells, but right before they die they get really excited, which makes you crave that feeling over and over again so you keep drinking more and more. And even though it is labeled as zero calories, the way your body deals with it is by turning it into sugar…or fat…or vaseline…or something (I may not have really paid attention to that part). Anywho, this stuff is terrible for you (as we already know…and as I just chose to ignore…you know, because we were going to be attacked by zombies).

So, instead of my usual morning stop at the gas stations, I opted instead to go to the organic market and grab a fresh vegetable juice.

Just a few pounds of juiced beets, spinach, celery, carrots, and garlic.

$4.79 are you trying to bankrupt me?!?! You evil organic market you!!

Breathe Sarah…just breathe. You usually drink like 3 Coke zeros a day which ends up being like $4.50 worth of dead little brain cells. You’ll be fine…or you’ll save up to buy yourself a juicer. Or meet a handsome rich man who will buy one for you. Screw that. You don’t need a man to get you what you need in life. You’re an independent woman! All my single ladies…all my single ladies…now put your hands up…

I digress.

Anywho…no more coke zero or any other processed foods for me. I’m going 80% vegan (there’s probs going to be dairy in some unexpected food items that I hadn’t accounted for). Plus I’m still going to eat seafood. I’ll be what I like to call a P-gan (pescatarian-vegan). I’m trademarking that word (if I knew what trademarking meant). Let’s try this out for 30 days (minus my birthday) and see how it goes.

So, as I have a crazy busy work week ahead of me (’tis the season for test tube shots), I have to get some End of the World items checked off in the the most efficient way possible so that I can blog and still make money to blow on December 20th…

Front runners of what I’m going to blow all of my money on on December 20th:

1. A miniature horse. I’d name him Leon.

2. One of those ice cream sundaes topped with gold leaf shavings.

2. A stretch limo to tour my home town so that I can pop out of the sunroof and wave at people like I’ve made it to the “Final 3” on American Idol.

3. Pay Tina Fey to eat a sandwich with me.

The world is your oyster when you’re talking about throwing away your entire life savings($87)! I mean the world could explode…or not.

Now back to getting sh*t done (as I am sitting in a cafe down the street from my apartment because our stupid modem is down…and all the electric outlets are being used by nerdy college students…and my sad iBook G4 goes from 99% battery to 0% in a matter of 16 minutes…so I probably shouldn’t have spent 5 of those minutes thinking of witty ways to blow my life savings…and then digressing more…as I tend to do). Anywho, as a chorus girl in the Musical Theatre industry for past 10 years, I’ve performed in front of thousands of people. Even some famous ones like Harry Potter (D-rad), John Travolta, and Meryl Streep. Wait, one of the hipsters sitting by the outlets just left…hold on…YES! Weve got power! Now I can digress forever! So, what was I saying. Oh yes, I was bragging about Meryl Streep…

I’m the second closest to her on the left.

(shout out to my Gypsy peeps!)

See! And here’s Johnny T (pre-male-masseuse scandal) he really was the nicest man ever! I think he was filming that weird movie where he steals a train.

I’m the one with the mutton chops.

Sorry, no pic of Harry Potter…he’s always in his invisibility cloak…get it?

In every performance I’ve done, I’ve always been the member of an ensemble of 10-15 people. I have played some small roles before but they usually only consist of 1 or 2 lines which tend to be like “Hey Peggy Sawyer, which way to the clam bake?” but I’ve never performed solo. Well, this Thursday that’s all about to change! You see, I’ve been studying Improv for about a year now (best decision I ever made! Besides switching from diet coke to coke zero…life changing). On Thursday (as in tomorrow) I will be performing 2 character monologues which I wrote myself. They’re about 3 1/2 minutes a piece, and they’re freaking the spit out of me. Since I haven’t had much time to bucket list, last night I combined studying my monologues with man hunting.

It didn’t work out very well. See, when you stare at a beer glass and talk to it for an hour as if you’re a 57 year old Italian woman (Character #1) the fellas don’t seem to come a runnin’. Weird right? Who knew?

But it’s all good, because tomorrow night I’m going to do a great job! …I’m going to do a good job!…I’m going to do a mediocre job!…I’m going to NOT crap my pants on stage!…I’m going to TRY not to crap my pants on stage! I’m going to clean up after I crap my pants on stage…I’m not cleaning it up.